


The Best Detective

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's a normal day(if any time near Christmas can be called normal) for Sherlock and John until Mycroft calls them in. There they meet someone who calls themself the best detective, and she needs their help(and Anderson's stupidity) to help crack a case including a family member. EDIT: DO NOT READ THIS! It is under construction, and what you read now might not be what it says later!“So am I back to being a fool?” She quickened her pace and soon was ahead of him.“Dear Sherlock, you never stopped being one.”





	1. When Better asks for Worse

It was that season again. The one that made someone either elated or suicidal. Snow gently fell to earth, reminding pedestrians that soon they would be hearing christmas carols and the happy laughter of families. It would’ve reminded Sherlock, too, if he wasn’t busy being frustrated at a computer screen.

“Is it only obvious to me? The cook did it!” Sherlock huffed, staring at the computer on his lap. It was a normal day on Baker St, which was quite abnormal. The great detective sat in his usual chair, and his assistant sat in his.

“Why are you looking at mystery riddles on the internet may I ask?” John said while working on his blog. The assistant’s laptop was on the desk next to all of Sherlock’s papers, and his fingers tapped on its keys.

“I’m bored.”

John sighed. “Of course… It seems like you’re always bored when you’re not working on a case.” He muttered.

“Of course I am. I have nothing to think about.” Sherlock shut his laptop and began tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. It’d been almost two days since the last somewhat interesting case, and the detective was bored out of his mind.

“What was the riddle, anyway?”

“House maid found murdered, it was thought that she was having an affair with the owner of the house. It was a Sunday. The wife was tending to the garden, the owner was dealing with some sort of work, and the cook was bringing in a package from outside. No deliveries on a Sunday; the cook did it.” He glanced at John. “Give me a riddle.”

The assistant rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Watson tried to remember a riddle he was given the last time he saw Harriet, his sister. "If a tree falls–“

“In a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Please, John, try something that I don’t know.” The doctor sighed. That was an impossible task.

“Well?”

The detective glanced at Watson again. “Well, what?”

“What’s the answer?”

The sound of feet going up stairs could be heard. “It’s quite simple, really. The tree actually d–“

“Boys?” Ms. Hudson spoke nervously. The soldier and the sociopath turned to face her. She tapped her fingers on her dress. “Some men are here to see you.” She stepped out of the way and two men came into the room. They had on black suits and matching neckties. One of them was bald and the other had brown hair that was about 3 inches long and glasses. Watson slowly closed his laptop, eyeing them as if the next move they made could be the last thing he saw.

“We’re here to pick up Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Are you them?” Baldy asked.

“Depends,” Sherlock said, leaning back in his chair. “Who are you working for?” Glasses glared at him before answering.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock’s face lit up, but John new it was just an act. He always did these things around people who have — what was the word again? — feelings.

“Ah, brother dearest requests my help yet again.” The detective clasped his hand together before standing up. He quickly got his goat and was putting his arms through it when he turned to his friend. “Come along, John. If Mycroft needs us it might just be worth my time.” Watson squinted at Glasses as Sherlock walked over to the two men. Eventually he got up, but he couldn’t help feeling that the man looked familiar.

They walked out the door and down the stairs. Baldy was in the front, then Sherlock and John, and Glasses brought up the rear. Watson shivered; he hadn’t realized it would be this cold outside. There was a car waiting for them, a black limo with glass tinted so black that someone who tried to look in would only see a void of darkness. Baldy opened the car door. Sherlock stepped in followed by his assistant. The thud of the door slamming shut made John jump.

“Well, it’s certainly interesting so far,” he said. Sherlock just smirked and stared out the window, out at the snowflakes that were gently falling onto the ground.

–––––

“Sherlock. It’s good to know you aren’t dead.” Mycroft was sitting in a simple plastic chair with a small table separating him from his brother and the soldier. It was the first time he’d seen his brother in about two months. Baldy stood to the right of Mycroft and Glasses stood on the left.

“Likewise,” Sherlock replied. The windows were shut and the drapes were drawn, but there was plenty of light from the few lamps in the room. Mycroft was facing away from the one window, and Sherlock and Watson from the other. There was a hall that seemed to go right through the room. It was like a box that was missing two of its sides. Watson picked his cup and saucer and took a sip. The two friends were sitting on a sofa big enough for four.

“Is that your way of saying you two love each other?” John asked. Sherlock chuckled at the question.

“Of course not. We mean what we say.”

“That’s depressing,” he said to himself. Well, he could expect nothing less from his friend.

“Come now. I did not call you here to chit-chat. I called you here for a case.” Mycroft smiled. “I think you’ll like this one.”

“Oh, really?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, really.” Mycroft smiled at his brother. A bit of shuffling on one side of the hall made him glance to his left. His smile grew wider. “Ah, Philip, just in time for some tea!”

The man came in wearing a fancy suit and a luxurious tie. He smiled gratefully at Mycroft before glancing at his other guests. Anderson and Sherlock locked eyes, and Sherlock’s eyebrows fell again. Their expressions both turned into glares.

“Well, that’s probably who the fourth cup of tea is for.” Watson said to Sherlock, but he wasn’t listening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The better detective muttered under his breath before turning to face his brother. “M-”

“Before you say anything, I have no idea why he’s here either. She wanted him.” Mycroft took the pen next to his tea and began twirling it in his hand.

“She?” The unasked question hung in the air as Anderson took his seat on the far end of the sofa. There was an awkward silence as the worse detective seemed to try and memorize the paisley upholstery. Watson eventually cleared his throat and spoke.

“So, why exactly are we here?” Mycroft turned his eyes to face the doctor.

“Well, the smartest detective in the world has been put on a case, and requested the help of you three. If you have any questions you can ask her right about…” a loud thunk was heard. “…now.”

The rustling of papers was heard before a lady came around the corner with two bodyguards. She had light-ish brown, bobbed hair and brown eyes that looked like voids from far away. Her sharp cheekbones were highlighted by the sharp coat she wore and the glasses on her face that were just a bit too big. There was a beige file in her right hand.

“I’m terribly sorry! I-I forgot to look at the time, and before I knew it, I-I was five minutes behind schedule!” She sounded like she might get on her knees and beg for forgiveness. Watson, Holmes, and Anderson stared at her in shock. Was she the best detective in the world?

“It’s quite alright, madam.” Mycroft sat a little straighter in his chair. “In fact, you’re right on time, so there’s no need to worry.” The lady let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good. I thought I kept you all waiting.” She gave a small smile to them. Only Watson smiled back. There was a short pause before Mycroft said,

“Well, I’m not needed here any more. Please, feel free to make yourself at home.” With that he stood up and walked out, Baldy and Glasses trailing behind him. The lady thanked him with a smile he couldn’t see and sat down in his chair. Gently, she placed the folder on the table.

“I bet all of you have questions.” The lady’s eyes flicked to each one of them "Well, let’s go in a line, I guess. Anderson, what’s yours?”

Philip was a bit flustered, but he managed to get his question out without stuttering. “Who are you?”

“I’m Reese Ashton, but you can call me whatever you want besides “sweetheart” and “love” and “honey” and those kinds of things.” She turned her head to face Watson.

“Why are we here?”

“I wanted to talk to you all privately.” She flicks her hand and her guards leave. Sherlock’s eyes moved from here to there trying to figure out who she was. She looked at him.

“Any questions, Detective?”

“Yes. Several. Why us?”

“Because, from what I understand, the best crime-solvers I’ve ever seen are sitting in front of me. Anderson?” He smiled a bit.

“What’s the case on?” She exhaled.

“I’ll… I’ll answer that one in a bit.” The woman turned to Watson.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere, yet.” She looked at Sherlock, and he looked back at her.

“Why are you working on this case?” She stood up.

“A relative of mine’s friend was involved.”

“How so?” She took a step forward, and he stood up.

“Was killed, along with seventeen other people.” She glanced at her watch and scowled. “Eighteen.”

“Unknown killer?” And another. Her smile got bigger the more she stepped forward, but it was a smile of happiness, not a smile of I’m-better-than-you-and-you-know-it.

“Yes.”

“Any idea?” Another. Their eye contact never broke. Anderson decided to tune out, they weren’t saying anything worth listening to.

“Yes. I think.” They were standing about five inches away from each other, and her smile was just as wide as it could get without seeming unnatural.

“Just one last question.”

“Shoot.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

”…Why Anderson?” She took a half step back before chuckling. After a few seconds she stopped and looked at him with a mischievous grin.

“Well, I need somebody to laugh at, don’t I?” Sherlock smirked and sat down. Watson laughed out loud, and Anderson wondered what had just happened.

“Yes, because crime’s always fun when you have someone to laugh at,” Sherlock said.

“You understand.” The woman smiled and went back to her seat. She enjoyed making Sherlock show some from of emotion, that much was obvious to him.

“Now,” she said in a bit of a huff. “What have you noticed about me? Anderson.”

“Huh?”

“What can you notice? Deduct?” Watson noticed she said can, not did.

“Well, you uh…” Anderson paused. When it was obvious he had no idea what to say, she faced Watson.

“What about you?”

“Well, you have an American accent, so you are, uh, American.” She nodded in approval. “Your shoes are new, it seems. Either you take very good care of them or you needed dress shoes or you’re trying to impress us.” She looked at him expectantly, but he lowered his head. “That’s… That’s all I could see.”

“Well, you did a very good job, John. What about you, Sherlock?” She trained her gaze on him.

He was silent for a few seconds, but he eventually spoke. “Those shoes you are wearing aren’t to impress us, they’re there to see what we notice about you; they’re new shoes and nothing more. The brown pants you’re wearing, however, aren’t anything new; those slight stains have been there for years. You like these pants, otherwise you would’ve thrown them away by now. Your coat has one sleeve rolled up and the other down; if you were more self-conscious you would’ve noticed that and fixed it. Shall I go on?” She nodded her head and gave a brief smile.

“Your ring, wedding ring, is new, you only got married a few months ago. Your necklace, quite expensive, is also new. Wedding present? Probably. You have some bracelets on, but they aren’t flashy; you’re living a humble life when it comes to being outside. And you’ve been outside a lot recently; were you an vaction or a case? The coat you’re wearing has been with you for one or two years; you’ve already had to sew two buttons on again. You have a cat; there’s fur on your coat and a scratch as well. You’re new around here, that’s why you thought you were late. That map of yours in the folder is missing half of it, the half you needed to give the street name to the driver.” Sherlock looked at her, perhaps triumphantly.

She grinned and got up from her seat. “Do you mind getting up?” He stood without responding. She walked over to him in that slow way of hers. She glanced over at Anderson. “You might want to pay attention to this.” Watson smirked as a flustered Philip looked over in her direction. Slowly she turned her eyes back to the detective.

“Sherlock,” she said. Her grin turned from happy to amused. He rose his eyebrows a bit.

“You’re. Wrong.”


	2. The Other One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector.

“Sherlock,” she said. Her grin turned from happy to amused. He rose his eyebrows a bit.

“You’re. Wrong.” His brows furrowed at her words. Wrong? He was never wrong.

“Someone once told you that disguise was really only a self portrait. Irene Adler, was it? Well, she was wrong.” She just grinned as Sherlock tried to figure out how she knew. “You figured out the character I was playing, though, so I guess I have to give you that.”

“How…?” Watson trailed off.

“How did I know? The answer’s more complicated than you’d probably like to know. Don’t worry, though. I’m not her, obviously, nor do I have any connections with her.” She paused for a bit before she spoke again. “Well, you were right about some things, but only a few.”

“First off, I’m not married. Never have been, probably will never be. Therefore, my necklace isn’t a wedding present. I… I’ve had it for a while. Next, I’ve had these pants for about a year from a yard sale. I’ve never worn them until now, but I put a few stains on them and dragged them on a sidewalk a few months ago. After that, I got them dry cleaned and hemmed, which wasn’t that hard. You were, indeed, right about the shoes. I just needed new shoes. Nor did I notice or try to fix my coat.” She grinned at him. “There’s always something, but this time it’s a little more than just one thing.”

“My skin’s naturally this tan-sort-of-not-really color, so no, I haven’t been on a trip recently. I don’t really live a humble life when it comes to being outside, but I can’t say I know how one would live humbly, either. You were right about the coat, it’s my favorite one. However, I don’t own a cat. I picked one up on the sidewalk and it decided it didn’t like me.” She rolled up her other sleeve to show some slowly bleeding scratch marks. “It was a pretty kitty, too. The first calico I’ve seen in a while. Anyway, I was late on purpose, I asked the driver to take us on a longer route.” She had to muffle her laughter when she saw all of their confused faces. Gently she took out her flip phone and took a picture of the confused detective’s face.

“Some things you missed about me. One, the glasses are fake. Two, how my fingernails are stubs; I must bite them. Three, how only the left hand is bitten. Habit? Probably. Lastly, I… Well, I shouldn’t crush your fantasies any more than I have.” She sat down in her chair, waiting for someone —anyone— so say something. When all her sense of hearing picked up was the squirrel in the walls, she sighed. “Did the shock cat get your tongues?”

Sherlock bowed his head and closed his eyes; his fingers were where they were whenever he visited his Mind Palace, whenever he tried to remember someone or something. John glanced at him before glaring at Reese. “I don’t know who you are, or what you do, but it doesn’t concern us, does it? You just came in here to–“

“Prove Sherlock wrong? Please, you flatter me. I…” She sighed again. “I need help, and I believe you all can help me. I-I haven’t seen the all crime scenes–“

“All?” She ignored John.

“–but I couldn’t see anything from the one I visited. I thought that maybe you two could help me. Oh, and you too, Anderson.” Sherlock opened his eyes, and his hands fell onto his lap. She stared at his bowed head. “Is something wrong?”

He chuckled. Soon his chuckle became a laugh, one of those laughs where someone would wonder whether the person laughing was crazy or if they had just missed something in a joke. Slowly, his laughing died down into a small smile. A smile that would make someone wonder if they had done something wrong.

“Hmm? What is it?” Reese tapped her fingers on her knee, her face serious as opposed to happy.

“You’re quite the interesting one. I never thought I’d know anyone like me but my brother.”

“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t either.”

“But you hoped you’d see someone like you and your brother.”

“Of course. Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Why?” Sherlock stared at her. He didn’t want to see someone like him because they might be a villain. An evil mastermind.

She sighed and spoke again. “I’m not evil.”

“Of course you’re not, but your brother is.” He stood up. “John and I will be leaving now, would you like to come with us?” Her genuine grin came back.

“I took you for more of a fool than you are. Yes, I’d love to join you.” She got up; John did the same. Her eyes quickly flicked over to Anderson. “There’s a cab waiting for you. It’ll take you home.” Philip looked at her as if she was that blasted detective. Well, she was him. She was just better, that’s all.

“Would you prefer to take a cab?” John asked her. She walked over to where John and Sherlock were standing.

“Oh, I’d prefer to fly, but I don’t have wings.”

He exhaled sharply. “Cab it is, then.” Swiftly, Watson walked out of the room and turned the corner.

“John!” She called after him, but he didn’t come back. She shook her head and looked at the detective next to her. “He doesn’t exactly have a photographic memory, does he?”

Sherlock shook his head once. “He never has.” She sighed.

“I guess he’ll figure out eventually that he went the wrong way.”

“Everyone does.” With that, he walked out of the room and she trailed after him, wondering who that insult was aimed at.

“Say, why are you being so nice to me? You haven’t said anything rude and you’re inviting me over to your place.”

“You’re the best detective, aren’t you? Figure it out.”

“Well, there’s at least four possibilities. I’d like to know which one.”

“You’re the type to trust easily. I’d like to use that to my advantage.”

“Hmm. You’re not as smart as I thought.” He slowed down his pace for a split second before carrying on like nothing had happened.

“So am I back to being a fool?” She quickened her pace and soon was ahead of him.

“Dear Sherlock, you never stopped being one.” Reese opened the door and walked outside with Sherlock at her heels. It was snowing. People were putting their hoods up and getting into cabs. She looked up at the sky in wonder. “Look! It’s snow!”

Sherlock wasn’t looking, though, he was hailing a cab. “Sherlock?”

“There’s a cab waiting for you.” She looked back at earth and saw the black car with one of the doors open.

“O-oh. Thanks.” Reese quickly got in. “I’ve never seen snow flakes this beautiful before.”

“You’re from New York, then?”

“Yep. It seems like they turn to soot as soon as they reach the ground.” She turned to him. “Have you been to New York?”

“No.” He said shortly.

“Do you want to go?”

“No.”

“It’s really nice there, you know.”

“Do you think so?” He asked sweetly.

“Yes.”

“Do you like it there?”

“Yes.”

“Are you slightly irritated by these questions that I’ve already figured out the answers to?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded like he was irked as he looked her straight in the eye.

“Now you know how I feel.” She averted her eyes, sitting in silence for a few seconds before speaking up again.

“Funny. I didn’t think you could feel.” Reese waited for his silly question.

“You didn’t?”

“No. I guess I should try to find the definition of high-functioning sociopath, huh?” She looked back at him and smiled. “I did my research, don’t worry.” He glared at her. She was happy.

“That’s the second time you’ve done that today. Who exactly are you?” She snapped her fingers as if he didn’t even say anything.

“Oh, I know!” She rummaged around in her coat pocket. “Here. This is for you.”

“I-“ She handed him a 3x3x3 cube with mixed colors.

“I’ve heard you get bored while you aren’t doing anything, so I decided to bring this with me. They call it, a Rubik’s Cube.” His fingers grabbed the cube, and he inspected it, losing interest in her. “You’re supposed to make all of one color be on one side for all six sides.”

“This will be interesting…” He fiddled with it, turning and twisting it.

“You’re welcome.” Reese stared out the window. The snow was so pretty it almost looked fake. She tried to focus her eyes on a building or two when they drove past. She didn’t know why she brought herself here, but she was determined to figure it out. Just like Sherlock was determined to figure out how to solve that cube. Her eyes went back to him. He was staring at the child’s toy, moving it this way and that. His eyes moved quickly and with a purpose, trying to solve the 3D puzzle. He was determined, alright.

His piercing blue eyes, his curly brown hair, that coat he wears that always has its collar up because he thinks it makes him look cool… They were exactly as she hoped they’d be. Everything she ever imagined him looking like, he was. The sociopath that could feign emotions was right there, using his nimble fingers to solve something that he had never seen before and didn’t know how to do. Maybe he did. She didn’t know. The man, like his brother but so much different, the one who had invited her to his house, was the one and only Sherlock Holmes. Oh, Hector would like to see him.

She fixed her eyes on the outside world again. She was here. She was now. Unbelievable, indescribable, impossible, imaginable. A snowflake fell from the sky and landed on its fellow companions. No one cared. They had bigger things to worry about. She did too, but she ended up watching them anyway. How beautiful they were amazed her. “You forgot to answer Anderson’s question.”

“Hmm? No, I didn’t.” She didn’t forget. She chose not to. He looked at her, and she could feel his stare on her turned head.

“Where exactly are you from?”

“I told you, New York.” His gaze went to the cube again.

“Do they have every word I’ve ever said written down in New York?”

“U-uh… no.”

“You hesitated.”

“Should I have not?” She felt his stare again, and this time she decided to meet it, to look at his icicle eyes.

“You aren’t who you’re pretending to be.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“You’re just choosing what you open up about yourself.”

“Precisely.” She turned to the window again. “It must be so hard for you, Sherlock, to not have any idea who you’re talking to. Well, you have six days to figure me out. If you do, I’ll give you a gift. Deal?”

“…If not?”

“Then you’ll have to live the rest of your life not knowing who I really am. That should be torture enough, don’t you think?” The cab came to a halt. “After all, you’re suffering as it is.”

“…I accept your challenge.” She grinned. She was going to like it here.

“221B Baker Street, here we are!”

Reese opened the door and practically skipped inside. Sherlock opened his door and, having put his new toy away, was about seven feet behind her. She opened the door and walked upstairs to his flat. She walked up the last step and froze. A… No. It couldn’t be. Not this early. Oh, she was going to have her work cut out for her, wasn’t she? There was writing written in blood. He… he had been there. She looked around quickly, trying to spot any other signs he could have given him. Given her.

“Don’t stop in the stairway, it’s bad manners.” Sherlock quickly went up the stairs. “Americans really are such outrageous…” He gently but firmly pushed her to the side. And he saw it. The message. And he stopped where he was, too.

“…People.” The detective quickly looked over at Reese. “Who did this? You know who, that’s why you stopped.”

She reached for his arm and clung to it like she would die if she let go. “H-him.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Him?” She nodded slightly. Slowly, she took a breath and said,

“M-my…brother.”


	3. When the Play on Words Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reese confirms her fears as Sherlock and Watson try to figure her and these strange killings out.

“Him?” She nodded slightly. Slowly, she took a breath and said,

“M-my…brother.” He nodded.

“No wonder you’re so worked up. Honestly, emotions get in the way. Learn to suppress them.” He tried to take a step forward, but she held on tight.

“Don’t!” she hissed. Sherlock tried again, but she yanked him back.

“Why are you doing this?” She shook her head and shushed him.

“He… He’s still here.” He glared at her but whispered when he spoke again.

“Oh please, you really think I’ll believe that he’s still here when you have no evidence whatsoever?”

“The door was open, he would’ve locked it when he left. The window has a reflection of an opened refrigerator, he would’ve closed it, he’s not a snobby robber. Your violin is out of its case, he would’ve put it back. In fact,” music started to play, “he would’ve tried it out before leaving. Believe me now?”

Sherlock let out a small huff. Yes, he was here. “What do you propose we do? You know him best.”

“Wait. He’ll be out of here in two minutes. He’ll put everything back then jump out the window.” He looked at her like she was Anderson and had just proposed that the puppy was the murderer.

“Are you crazy? We’ll be letting him get away!”

“Sherlock, he has a gun!” Sure enough, there was a fun in the door of the opened refrigerator. She sighed. “Just wait. Can you just not jump into danger for once?”

“He’s away from the fridge!”

“He always has two guns, you don’t know where the other one is!” She felt a buzz in her pocket and pulled out her flip phone.

'You OK, lil sis?  
I can’t find u anywhere.  
Text when u can.  
<3  
-H’

“Oh, no… nu-uh. This isn’t good at all.” Reese put her flip phone back in her pocket.

“Who was that?”

“Hector.” The fridge had been put back, all nice and closed and neat. The violin stopped and was put back in its case. Slowly, the shadowed figure with the black coat opened the window… and jumped. Reese let out a sigh of relief. “He’s gone.”

They both rushed over to the writing on the wall. It read,

“GIVE HER BACK. YOU ARE A MONSTER.  
GIVE HER BACK AND I WON’T HARM YOU.  
TICK TOCK YOU HAVE ONE WEEK.”

“One week? That’s much too long. If I was a kidnapper I could’ve done anything to you I wanted and handed you back on the last day.” Reese’s face turned slightly pink at the unmeaningful comment.

“What you’re saying is that he doesn’t want me to be returned in good health. It wouldn’t really matter if you returned me dead, he wants to see you.” Sherlock squinted at one of the letters.

“This isn’t blood. Well, it is, but it’s cow’s blood. Unimportant.” Reese turned around and began trying to find other messages. “Your brother forgot to lock the door and turn off the television.”

“No, he never–“ She turned around and looked him in the eyes. “–forgets to do anything.” Her eyes widened.

“He knew we were here.”

“And let us live.” There was a pause in life where they stared at each other. “What’s on the TV?”

Reese and Sherlock turned toward it. It was the news; there was a woman reporter with a black suit and white blouse. She had dark brown, dazzling hair and a fair face. When she spoke her voice was like pure water going down a waterfall, clear and splashing with a heaviness to it that no one could put their finger on. “Two people were found this morning in downtown London. They were identified as Dorset Green and Nat Block. There were no weapons at the crime scene, but there was a message that read, ‘watch out’. Anyone who knows anything about the murder is to call…”

They looked at each other. Her brother definitely left it going on purpose. Reese could faintly hear a door open, and she finally spoke. “We need to solve this case. Fast.”

They got to work. Watson came up the stairs, huffing and puffing, with a bent head. “Next time… you guys… can tell me… I’m going the… wrong way.” She looked up at him and smiled.

“Oh, I tried, you were just too angry at me to hear.” Watson finally looked up.

“Why is there blood on the wall?”

“No reason.”

“Is it writing?”

“Maybe.” Sherlock came in with a squeegee. and a bucket of water. “Do you mind cleaning this up, John?” Reese asked sweetly. Of course he did, but who could say no to her? Sighing, he took the sponge and began to clean the cow blood off the wall. She smiled. “Thanks! Say, how long have you guys been living together now?”

Sherlock gave her a glance. “We aren’t living together now. He’s married.” Reese snapped her fingers.

“Oh, that’s right! You did get married after all, didn’t you! I thought you’d never be able to propose after Sherlock ruined your plans by coming back to life.”

Watson stared at her. “How do you know these things?” She shrugged and put down her beige folder.

“Unimportant.” Sherlock gave her a quick glance. There was a small silence before the doctor noticed something.

“Why’s the window open?” Reese shrugged again.

“Someone jumped out of it.” Watson stopped cleaning up the cow’s blood and turned to face her.

“What?”

“I said, someone jumped out of it. Oh! Don’t worry, they aren’t dead or anything.”

“You missed a lot, John.” Sherlock sat down and began typing on his computer, trying to find… something.

“I was gone for ten minutes!” John said exasperatedly.

Reese smirked. “Tsk, tsk, John. One whole sixth of an hour.” Watson just rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, what are you trying to do?”

“Find the newest crime scene, what else?”

“Don’t bother. It’s on Dorset Street, basically around the corner. Would you like to go there?” She asked him. A smile tugged at his lips as he stood up.

“Of course. Those weren’t the real names of the corpses.”

“Dorset and Block. You really believed that?” Reese smirked. Of course he did.

"John, let’s go.”

“But–“

“The wall can wait. It’ll only take one whole sixth of an hour, anyway.” With that, he left, coattails streaming. Watson and Reese looked at each other.

“Well, we’d better get going, then.” Watson gave her a small smile and trotted after the detective. She grinned. She just might like it here more than she thought.

“Hey! Wait up!” she called and ran after them. “You guys want to know where it is, don’t you?”

“Hurry up!” Watson called back. “We want to know where it is!” Reese chuckled. The snow had gotten heavier. The few mounds of it that quickly melted away were growing bigger. It didn’t mean the snowflakes weren’t as beautiful, though. It only meant that they’d be sticking around longer. Reese looked up. If only she didn’t have something important to do, sh–

“!” She bumped into something. Or rather, someone. “O-oh! Sorry!”

“No, it was my fault. I’m so, so sorry.” It was a young man with dazzling green eyes that bumped into her. Well, she bumped into him. She looked at his clothing and his face before blushing and smiling.

“Just… don’t try following me, okay?” He looked at her like she had grown another head.

“I wasn’t–“

“Please. With those shoes that sound like you’re walking on air and that walkie-talkie in your pocket? Not to mention the earbuds that are leading nowhere in particular. You’re following someone, and it better not be me.” She brushed past him. Now, where did John go?

The man pulled out his walkie talkie after she was a good distance away. “Pretty sure she’s on to us,” he said. “I’m gonna follow her from twenty yards.”

The machine crackled. “DON’t geT CAught.” Then the crackling faded out.

“I never get caught.” With that, he slid into the crowd.

 

“John! Sherlock! Over here!” She waved over the men that were half a block away from her. Reese went into the alleyway as Sherlock and John rushed after her.

“What is it?” John asked. The detective quickly looked at him.

“John, you’ve got to stop asking those stupid questions.” The doctor blinked a few times and nodded.

“You’re right.” Reese let out a frustrated groan and the men quickened their pace.

“Why? Why?” Sherlock and John turned the corner to see her slapping her hands against the wall of the dark alleyway. The place was damp and smelled like a sock that was smothered in blue cheese. The snow drifted gently to the ground where it became puddles of black water. Reese was standing near a dead body; its chest and arms had been cut by some sort of metal object. “Why, why, why?”

“Why…?” Reese sighed at Watson’s unfinished question.

“Why him, why now, why here, why why?” She pointed to the face with its eyes still open. “Do you have any idea who this is? He should look familiar.” He was wearing a blue sweater and jeans, and he had a tie on. Sherlock thought he almost looked like…

“The bald one. Mycroft’s bodyguard.” She stared at the body for a few more seconds.

“Watson, you should probably find your gun when we get back to your apartment.”

John didn’t bother asking why, she answered him anyway.

“It’s only a matter of time before they come hunting for us next.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Hang on. I get you’re all Sherlock Holmes but better, but how do you deduce ‘get your gun’ from a dead body?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” She said. “Just take a look at the marks.” Watson, for the first time, actually looked at them.

“Oh.” They were letters, and they were spelling out the words, “watch out”.

Just like the other murder, the detective thought. Reese stared at the body and said,

“How are we going to tell his family? His wife?”

“How do you know he has a family?” Reese sighed.

"I’m not going to even bother explaining it.” She reached into his right pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. “He’ll have pictures of his kids in there.” Sure enough, when John opened the wallet there was a picture of their family together on a sunny day. Him, his wife, and his three kids. John smirked.

“Sherlock, you might have just met your match.” The detective nodded and said,

“Yes, these criminals are not to be laughed at.” Reese ignored him and inspected the wounds.

“Still fresh. A blow to the head killed him, the rest of the cuts were just to frighten us. He wasn’t killed here, the cuts were made and cleaned. And, if my brother had anything to do with this, there should be a…” She looked in the man’s left shoe and pulled out a slip of paper. “…bingo.”

“What? What is it?” John asked, but Reese ignored the question.

“Watson, are you good in hand-to-hand combat?”

“I’m not the best, but I’m…not too bad.”

“Good. You’re going to need to use it soon.” Her voice became close to a whisper. “That man followed me even though I told him not to. And before you ask, John, I ran into a man chasing you guys and can feel stares on the back of my head. I don’t know why, I just can.”

“Ah,” John said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back.” Reese ruffled her hair, took one arm out of her coat, and bent her eyeglasses before rushing onto the sidewalk. As expected she ran right into the person who she saw before. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”

The startled man looked at her. “For what?” She shook her head.

“There’s a body. A dead body in there. I had no idea it was going to be in there, I thought…” She held back a sob. “I… He’s dead. I just want to go home.”

“Alright. I’ll just take care of it and hail you a taxi, okay?” She sniffed and nodded. He walked into the darkness. A few seconds later, a blow was heard, and then a thunk.

“He’s knocked out for now. Let’s go.” Sherlock swept passed her, and Watson soon followed.

“Idiot, did you even check what he has in his pockets?”

“I’m not wearing gloves.”

“You don’t have to.” She slipped inside the alleyway and stared at the unconscious man. Slowly, she took the walkie-talkie out of his pocket and the slip of paper inside the man’s left shoe and smiled grimly. Scanning him one more time, and also took his bowtie. Then she got out of there as fast as her legs could carry her. “Sherlock, wait!”

The man was only fifty feet away; he spun around to face her. “What is it?” She sprinted over to them.

“Yes, it’s them alright. They’re at it again.” She stopped for a second to breathe. “The Jaded Dye.”

“The…” Watson raised an eyebrow. Reese sighed.

“The Jaded Dye. My brother joined them and became their leader. Group that steals… Why? Why? Why why why why why?!” She began to quickly walk to Mrs. Hudson’s property.

“Oh, bloody hell. Why what?” John tapped his foot irritatedly. She spun around in a blink of an eye.

“We have six days to find out where they’re going next. It would take your friend here at least three weeks to even get a lead. In other words, we need to get to work. But not now. Right now, I need to…” Reese shook her head and continued to walk towards 221B Baker Street.

He turned to Sherlock, exasperated. “She’s just like you.” Sherlock looked back at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“…You don’t think she’s going to find my secret stash of nicotine patches, do you?” They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Oh, she definitely will.” The detective started walking as fast as he could toward her at hearing John’s words.

“Hey!” John began to chase after them, he but stopped. It wasn’t worth it. Snow fell on his coat as he walked through the thin layer on the ground, eating his warmth and melting into his coat. But for some reason, he didn’t even feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked chapter 3! :)


	4. When Two Do Not Drink Their Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens, just moving the story forward a bit :)

“Don’t use any of my–“

“Nicotine patches? I don’t need them.” Reese was in the kitchen, brewing some tea. Her fake glasses were on the desk, next to Watson’s laptop. “Do you want some?”

“No. However, John might.”

“You didn’t let John get kidnapped, did you?” She took the tea off the stove once it began to whistle.

“He won’t.” Sherlock picked up the sponge and began cleaning off the wall where John had left off. There wasn’t much left to do, as John was an efficient worker.

“I hope you’re right, Icicle Eyes.” She poured the tea into three separate cups. “…Do you like it?”

“Usually nicknames are used to make the name shorter.” She brought two of the cups over and handed one to the detective. He dropped the sponge into the water.

“So you do, then.” He glanced at the tea.

“I said I didn’t want any.”

“I know, Icicle Eyes. Take it anyway.” He took the teacup and held it in his hands. "See? Even if you don’t drink it, it’s still a good hand-warmer.”

Sherlock sat down in his chair.

Reese blew on her tea. “Well? You have some questions you’d like to ask, and I’m willing to answer a few of them.”

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Hector.”

“What are on the pieces of paper?”

“Quotes that they take with them wherever they go.”

“And the quotes are…”

“Unique to each person.” Sherlock tapped his fingers against the tea cup.

“I’ll ask; why Jaded Dye?”

“A bit of a play on words. They have eyes that are green(with or without contacts), hence the jade, and as you know jaded is a synonym for tired. They have a tiny green tattoo, usually somewhere on their shoulder, hence the dye and the jade dye. The Jaded Dye is just a way of saying stay alert.”

“Because the jaded die.”

“Exactly. Hector named it that after he was put in charge.”

“He’s the sociopath in your life?”

“One of them.” Her cheeks became a slightly different shade. He looked at her face and then back down at the tea.

“……Thanks.”

“F-for what?”

“For the chamomile tea.” She glared at him.

“Now look. You don’t have to pretend you actually cared about that.” Sherlock looked up.

“Why does my acting get you so upset?”

“Because… I’d like it if you could be real with me. You’re a great guy, even if you don’t necessarily feel anything. I’d like to know the real you.”

“You know the real me.”

“Sherlock.” Reese looked him in the eye. “Not even Mycroft knows the real you. I doubt you do, too.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Yet you want to know. Why?” Her face became a somewhat darker shade.

“You… you intrigue me,” she admitted. “You, the one, the only, the great, the wonderful, the high-functioning sociopath, the witty, the the absolutely-amazing-in-every-way-possible-except-for-not-having-feelings Sherlock Holmes is here, is here right in front of me. I’d like to know who this great person really is.”

“You think I’m not as amazing as everyone else believes.”

“No. I think you’re better.” He smirked.

“Should I be flattered?”

“Of course not. You don’t need to be normal.” Reese took her cup and rinsed it out in the sink as Sherlock wondered if he should be offended or not. When she came back, she reached her hand out for his. “Can I take that for you?”

“You’re quite an odd duck,” he told her as he gave her the warm cup. She smiled.

“And you’re a goose.” They locked eyes, and Reese felt like time had stopped. It hadn’t, of course, but it sure felt like it. Icicle Eyes pierced her voids and ripped them to shreds and showed that they were brown, not black. It pained her to look in his eyes, but it was like the pain of taking off a scab. It hurt, but at the same time, someone didn’t stop…

Footsteps on the stairs made her turn her gaze away and go into the kitchen. She could hear the muffled laughter behind her, then John’s exasperated voice. “What did I miss this time?”

“Oh, John,” she chuckled, “you just happen to miss everything. It was nothing, though.” Reese rinsed out the teacup and dried it. “I just gave Sherlock a nickname.”

“Smartass?”

“No.” She laughed. “Though it might be the next one.”

The new detective glanced over at the man in the chair; she could feel his stare. “John, I made camomile tea, if you want some.” She turned her gaze back to the cups.

“Thanks.” John glanced into the kitchen and saw the two drying cups as she poured the flavored water. “Sherlock didn’t have any, did he?”

“Tea? No. But then again, I didn’t either.” Reese handed him the camomile tea.

“But then–“

“Hand warmers.” She sat down on the chair across from Sherlock’s. “Have you figured out the puzzle yet?” she asked him.

“Which one?” Her or his child’s toy?

“The cube.” He pulled it out of his pocket.

“Almost.” She laughed at the condition the little squares were in.

“Not even close.” She took a scrambled one out of her pocket that was 4x4x4 instead of his measly three. In about fifteen seconds, she had finished it and handed it to him. “You should be able to do yours in ten seconds, detective.”

“You’re a duck; I’m just a goose.” He gently wrapped his hands around the cube she had finished and inspected it. John shifted from foot to foot.

“I should probably be going now.” He set down his empty cup on the table. “Mary will be wondering where I am.”

“O-of course. Thanks for your room, John.” If he had any tea left in his mouth he would’ve spit it out.

“W-what?”

“Oh, I just assumed I’d be living here now that you’re gone.” Sherlock didn’t even blink.

“Hold on. I leave for six confounded minutes, and you decided you’re moving in?”

“No, you tell me you moved out, and I decide that I’m moving in.”

“Now look, I don’t know where you came from, but it isn’t normal for people to suddenly decide to move in someplace in a blink of an eye around here.”

“John, I’m not normal. I don’t have a place to go, and it would be a bit safer for me to live here.” He sighed.

“Sherlock?” John meant to ask how he felt about her statement, but that would be a bit rude. The detective sighed.

“…As long as you don’t invite anyone over and barely come downstairs, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“If you say so…” John shrugged. "Well, you have a flatmate now. Good luck with that.”

“I managed to survive with you here, didn’t I?” Reese chuckled. Those two friends… She had never met anyone like them.

“I suppose you did.” John smiled and went out the door, his steps echoing into the room until there were no more of them. She looked at the detective.

“Well, that makes things easier.” He completely ignored her statement.

“Do you get disgusted easily?”

“If you’re talking about your experiments, no.” She grinned. "After all, how do you think I managed to not scream my head of when your saliva experiment turned into mold?” He abruptly stood up and went over to the refrigerator. He opened it and saw the moldy head.

“It was going so well, too.” He clicked his tongue and took the moldy head out of the fridge.

“All good things must come to an end eventually.”

“…You talk from experience.”

“Whoever doesn’t is a fool,” she huffed. Sherlock threw the head into the garbage.

“Do you have anything you need to bring upstairs?” Her eyes lit up.

“No.” She giggled silently. “In fact, we’re going shopping.” He gave her a sideways glance.

“No, we’re not.”

“It’ll help to clear your head.”

“I’m fine staying here, thank you.”

“If you do I’ll hide you patches where you can’t find them~.”

“No.”

“Oh well. Cold turkey for you, then!” She lifted his skull on the fireplace and grabbed the sticky material. He scowled at her.

“Fine. There’s a place near here. Just put the patches down.”

“Yay~!” Reese did as he asked and bounced toward the door, picking up the tiny slips of paper as she went. “C’mon, let’s go!” He glared at her.

“Who are you?”

“If I were to tell you, I’d be lying.” She smiled at his expression. "Now hurry! Clothes aren’t going to buy themselves, you know!”

Sherlock gave a short, facetious smile and followed her outside. His smile grew a bit wider as he watched her flail about, trying to hail a cab. “Are you really from New York?” She finally managed to get one to drive over.

“Yes. Just not the city.” She opened the door and hopped in; he followed suit. “Now, I have to warn you, there’s nothing boring about going shopping with me.” He quirked an eyebrow. “What I mean is, something relating to the criminals always happens.”

“While you’re shopping?”

“Of course. Strange, huh?” There was a short silence. “I brought the quotes if you want to read them. They’re double-sided.” He took one from her and scanned it.

“‘I had jade colored eyes  
That shimmered in the sun  
If you stared at them too long  
You’d catch a glimpse of what I’d done  
The faces of the damned  
And all the butchered lambs  
If I had to do it over  
I just would’ve done it slower  
-Rumbrave.” He looked at her. “For some reason, that seems fairly appropriate for the man following you today.”

“Or whoever killed the bodyguard.” She listened as he read the next one.

“‘When a man wants to murder a tiger he calls it sport; when a tiger wants to murder him he calls it ferocity.’ - George Bernard Shaw.”

“He’s trying to say killing them would still be murder.” Sherlock stared out the window as she read hers, the one planted inside the bald man’s shoe.

“First one: ’There are born victims, born to have their throats cut, as the cut-throats are born to be hanged.’ -Aldous Huxley. Yep, that’s definitely my brother.” She shuddered. “He’s here. He’s really here.” She scanned the other one and her face went pale. Sherlock took it from her and read it out loud.

“‘We’re not in Wonderland anymore, Alice.’ -Charles Masnon.”

“Well, that hit a nerve.” Reese chuckled nervously. Of all quotes…

“You’re in Horrorland now.”

“No, that’s not it… I am in Wonderland. It’s just a more morbid one, that’s all.” She shook her head, trying to clear the anxiousness that was clouding her brain. She knew this day would come one day, she just didn’t know it’d be this soon. Six days from now…

“Stop here.” The cab stopped at a busy street and Sherlock got out.

“Hey, where are you–“ the car door slammed shut and she had no choice but to get out and follow him.

“We’re here.” She looked up. A ‘New Look' sign stared back at her. “Ha ha. You know, people name stores so well nowadays.” He didn’t respond.

They walked inside and her face lit up. There were racks and racks of clothes! Secretary clothes to high-salary lawyer clothes, almost any disguise she wanted was in that store! “You might want to take a seat, Sherlock, this’ll be a while.” She gestured to a small, couch-like seat. “Or you could get some clothes for yourself if you want to, if might be fun.”

Reese chuckled at the face he made. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

“Just… Hurry up.” Even his voice sounded uncomfortable.

“Alright, alright. Now, where to start…” She started going through the racks. Sherlock almost sighed. This was going to be a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy :)


	5. When One Spies a Shoplifter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yolanda and Mycroft make an appearance. So does another member of her brother's gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack. It's understandable if you cringe at this chapter... I hope the next one will be better.

“Hello, Sir? Are you looking for anything?” A young lady approached him She was wearing the uniform of all the employees at the store. She had blond, bobbed hair and hazel eyes. “My name’s Yolanda; I work here.”

“No, and I know.” Where was that woman? He had been waiting there for a good forty minutes. Surely it can’t take that long to find clothes.

“Waiting for someone?” The woman’s smile was unfazed.

“Yes.”

“Oh, a girlfriend?”

“No.” His answers were as sharp as a kitchen knife.

“Just a friend, then?”

“An acquaintance.” A kitchen knife that had been sharpened everyday but not used until then.

“She’s got to be special if you’re waiting for her.”

“Why do you think they’re a girl?” Yolanda shrugged.

“Well, you didn’t correct her gender when I asked if she was your girlfriend, so I just assumed. How special is she?” He glared at the blonde.

“Quite.”

“Stuck in the friend zone, huh? Or should I say, acquaintance zone?” If looks could kill…

“No.”

“Well, you obviously are.”

“No, I’m not. And obviously?”

“Why else would you be waiting for a girl to finish shopping?”

“She’ll make me suffer if I don’t.”

“Oh, really now? How will she do that?”

“I don’t understand how that’s any of your business.”

“I see. Something that would require the use of strong and inappropriate words to describe, huh?”

“No.” 

She winked. “Don’t worry, I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Uh huh. Well, can I interest you in any of the men’s clothing while you wait?”

“No.” There was a brief silence before,

“Sherlock, what do you think of this?” Reese rushed over wearing a long-sleeved dress and carrying two bags full of clothes and her coat.

“Oh, you must be the woman he were talking about,” Yolanda said as Reese reached the two of them. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”

“Pleasure to meet you. Have you been keeping him company while I was gone?”

“I tried. He seemed to not like it very much, though.”

“It’s alright, he’s like that all the time.” Yolanda looked at the dress she was wearing.

“Black velvet floral print? Good choice.”

“Thanks!” The saleswoman smiled at Reese.

“You know,” she leaned in near the shopper’s ear. “He said you were quite special.”

“R-really?” Reese cheek’s grew slightly pink.

“Quite.”

“O-oh.” She gave a shy smile to the detective; he looked at her quizzically. “Well, there’s a reason for that.” Yolanda pulled away from her ear.

“Oh really? What’s that?” Reese gave her a smile.

“I’m the only person in the world that’s smarter than him.” Yolanda gave a blank stare. “We should probably get going, Sherlock.”

“Sherlock… The Sherlock?” She gaped at him.

“Yes, yes, the brilliant man with no feelings whatsoever. So no, he’s not in the friend zone or whatever.”

“How…?”

“Science of Deduction, Hon. Like I told you, smarter than him.” Reese grinned at the awestruck face before facing the Sherlock. “Come along, we haven’t got all day. And uh, Dear?”

“Y-Yolanda.”

“Yolanda, that person over there in the left corner is shoplifting. You might want to stop him.”

“Oh! O-of course, right away.” She almost ran over to the shoplifter. Reese smiled at Sherlock.

“So, I’m quite special, huh?” The detective stood up just a tad too quickly.

“Let’s go.”

“Avoiding continuing the conversation, too? My my, you must have really meant it.”

“Meant that you’re smarter than I am? It’s not a pleasant thing to admit, but yes, you are. Now, let’s go before Yolanda realizes that shoplifter has a gun.”

Reese nodded. “Good idea.” She looked back at Yolanda and the man just in time to see him drop something on the floor. A slip of paper. “Not yet, though.” She grabbed his wrist with her empty hand and began pulling him to the soon-to-be scene.

“Sir, I understand that you might be new around here, but–“

“Why can’t you see that I’m not doing anything wrong? I’m picking up and putting back, see?” He was doing the motion using one of the tiny accessories.

“Sir–“ Yolanda was interrupted again, but this time by a different person.

“Yolanda, dear, do you mind if I talk with him for a bit? You might need to arrest him afterwards, though.” Reese stared at the shoplifter. Messed up black hair, beige pants, a light green shirt, and eyes to match its color. She walked straight up to the man. “Give me your quotes.”

“My what? What are you talking about?”

“The slip of paper in your left shoe. Give it to me.” She pulled out a gun before the man could pull out his.

“John’s,” Sherlock stated. Reese shrugged.

“It was on the table; I decided it might be a good idea to take it with us.” She flicked it at the shoplifter, and he slowly reached down in his shoe and pulled it out.

“You want this, do you?”

“Of course I do. You’re a member of the Jaded Dye.” He goggled at her.

“How did you-”

“I really don’t have time for this; Mycroft’ll make you talk. Give. Me. That. Slip.” She reached out her hand, and he dropped it from his into hers. She smiled in amusement. “Good. Sherlock, you have your brother’s phone number. Do you mind texting him to come over here?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but, for some reason, decided against it. He took out his phone and started pressing buttons.

“Thanks. Now, let’s see what these are…” She picked up the piece of paper he dropped earlier before, too. The one you had; first: 'Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn’t that give me equal right?’ –Charles Manson. Interesting one. Childhood trauma, wanting revenge, that kind of stuff. Sorry about that.” Reese flipped the scrap over. “Next one is, ‘It would be impossible for me to stop poisoning people.’ –Anna Zwanziger. Oh, a poisoner? Which ones do you use?” 

“Why should I tell you?”

“Fair point. Next one! She picked up the paper on the floor. "If you’re going to do something, do it well. And leave something witchy.’–Charles Manson. Honestly, what is it with you guys and this American Psycho?” She paused for a bit. “Oh. So my brother’s indirectly calling himself an American Psycho. Huh. Okay, next one…” She paused, then cleared her throat and went on. 

“’How can it not be right when it’s done with love?’ –Susan Atkins. Oh, he would write this quote if wasn’t written already.”

“He sounds crazy,” Yolanda commented.

“He is,” Reese and the shoplifter said at the same time. She turned to him.

“Then why do you work for Hector?”

“B-because… I have to. He’s forced me to work for him. If I don’t, my family and me will get killed.”

“I.” He gave her a blank stare.

“What?” She sighed.

“My family and I, not me.”

“Fine. My family and I will get killed. Happy?”

“No, of course not. He’ll kill your family if you don’t work for him? Honestly, that’s going a bit too far.”

Sherlock finally spoke up instead of watching the conversation. “Will he need you to have a stern talk with him?”

“I’d correct you and say it’s a stern talking-to, but then you’d remind me that’s grammatically incorrect, so yes. When’s Mycroft coming?” The detective was about to speak, but,

“He’s already here.” Reese jumped at the new voice from behind her before turning around and smiling at the man.

“Mycroft! Good to see you again.”

“Likewise.” He gave her a smile so fake that it could have been painted on.

“We have a bit of a lead here. Would you mind getting some information out of him? Anything on him that’s abnormal, such as a safety pin or a tattoo, could be useful.”

“Of course.”

“Also,” she added, “I’m sorry about your bodyguard. The bald one.”

“He was killed.” It was more of a statement than a question, but she answered it anyway.

“Blow to the head. How should we tell his family?”

“I’ll leave that up to you and Sherlock.” Glasses walked past her and took the shoplifter’s arms, cuffing them. “Well, we’ll be off. Thanks for your help, Detective Ashton.”

She just smiled as he and his bodyguard went off, taking the member of the Jaded Dye with them. As soon as they were out of sight, she put the gun away and glanced at her new acquaintance.”We should get going, too.”

“We should.” She smiled at the employee.

“Thanks for your help, Yolanda.”

The woman blushed. “Oh, i-it was nothing, really.”

“No, without you we wouldn’t have been able to catch him.” Reese took Sherlock’s wrist as Yolanda’s face turned redder. She turned to him. “Well, what are we waiting for? We need to head back.”

He nodded. “You don’t have to hold onto my wrist.” She smirked.

“I know, I just like making you feel uncomfortable. Just like that smile you hated.” They walked toward the exit, the detective trying to walk faster than she was, until they were out of the store. The snow had stopped now, but it looked like it was going to begin again soon.“I’ll–“

“No, I will.” She let go of his wrist and he hailed a cab for them. “It’s better when I do it.” They both got in; Sherlock on one side, Reese on the other.

There was a silence for a few minutes. The detective worked on the cube while she gazed out the window. There wasn’t much going on. A few stores, people going to and fro, so many people. It was strange that there were that many, especially because of the cold weather. She was here, in all its glory. With him, the man without feelings… Reese didn’t even know that she asked her question until it came out of her mouth.

“You told me to suppress my feelings. Is that what you did?” Sherlock looked up briefly.

“I thought fools don’t talk from experience.” She smiled.

“Only some. Did you used to… to feel?”

“I’d tell you, but I’d be lying.” She turned to look at him.

“What happened to make you close yourself off?”

“Unimportant.”

“You do have feelings.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Yolanda was annoying you, but you didn’t tell her or walk off without saying anything. You’re changing a bit, Sherlock. Quite a bit.”

“…Am I?” She smiled.

“Yes.” He looked up at her stare. Icicle Eyes, piercing through her voids, showing her true colors. It was strange, though; her feelings rushed through her like a tropical storm on an ocean. Him… it only occurred to her then that she might just be in love with Sherlock. In love with the safe that has thrown away its combination… could she be a good enough stethoscope?

“Hey, are you two lovebirds gonna kiss or what?” the driver called from the front.

“W-what?” Reese sputtered. “We’re not–“

“Oh, come on. I’m not smart but the way you were making googly eyes at each other would make a hard-hearted person tell you to get a room.”

“We weren’t–“

“Yeah, okay. Sure. I used to deny I liked my now-spouse, too, so I get it.” Her face turned a dark shade of crimson as she almost choked on her own spit.

“D-did you just–“

“Yes. Yes, I did.” The diver made a turn. “We’re here.”

Reese got out of the car as fast as she could; Sherlock appeared behind her a few seconds afterwards. He smirked in amusement. “Nice acting.” 

She glanced at the car that was still there. He wasn’t going to leave until he was proven right, was he? Sighing, she turned around and kissed him on his left cheek. She could almost feel the reminiscing smile of the cab driver as he left the curb.

“Why did you do that?” If she thought Sherlock was a normal human being, she would’ve thought the almost unseeable tint in his cheeks meant something.

“So the cabby would go away.” She started walking to 221B. “Thanks for the compliment, by the way.” 

The detective didn’t say anything.

 

By the time Reese got in through the door, she was chilled to the bone. Mrs. Hudson greeted her with a smile. “Hello, dear. John told me the news. It’ll be delightful having you here!”

“T-thanks, Mrs-s. Hudson-n.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke.

“Oh, dear. That cold, is it?” She nodded and went up the stairs. Sherlock appeared in the doorway right after she had gotten up to their flat. “Sherlock, moving in with a lady friend?”

“Mrs. Hudson, it’s not what you think it is.” She nodded with a wink.

“Of course not.” He rolled his eyes as he went upstairs. There’s some things that will never change.

Reese put on her coat and made Sherlock and herself a cup of tea each. Her hands slightly shook as she put the tea on the stove. The TV crackled in the background as she. “You want a cup?”

The detective sat down in his chair. “No.”

“Sugar?”

“No.” She added a cube.

“Cream?”

“No.” She didn’t add any. Reese walked over to him with both the cups and handed him his.

“I put a cube in, so be sure not to spill it.”

“Even though I deliberately did not ask for some.”

“Just in case you wanted to drink the tea.” She sat down across from him and sipped her tea. “It’s not that bad today.” Reese looked at the tiny watch on her wrist. “It’s getting late…”

Sherlock sipped the tea silently. She was right, it wasn’t that bad. “The time?”

“Nine-thirty.” Nine-thirty? The day has passed almost too quickly. She finished her tea and took the cup to the kitchen. “I’m going to get put away upstairs. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“If neither of us is kidnapped, yes.” She smiled and picked up her bags.

“Good point.” With that, she went up to Watson’s former room. She was going to like it here.

Sherlock thought he heard singing in her room. He was going to listen to what song she was singing to, but he stopped. “Unimportant,” he muttered to himself as he went to the kitchen and rinsed his cup out. He still wondered where she was from; would he ever know? He didn’t want to admit it, but she was a mystery. Only one other person had been like her that he had known in his lifetime.

“Again, unimportant.” He went to his bedroom. She made him think. If that was a good thing or not, he didn’t know.

 

Sherlock woke up from a fitful sleep to a small whimper. Thinking it was probably nothing, he rolled over and was about to go back to sleep when he heard another. And another. He realized he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep if it kept up, so he dragged himself out of bed and walked toward the sound. As the sound became closer, Sherlock realized it was coming from her bedroom.

He opened to door to Watson’s former room cautiously. It was dark, but he could tell only Reese was in the room. She tossed and turned and… cried? It was obvious she wasn’t awake, so she must have been having an awful nightmare. He stepped closer to the bed she was in. “Hector, don’t…” she whispered. “No…” Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, wondering awkwardly what he should do. He couldn’t wake her up, that would be quite embarrassing to her. He couldn’t let her keep dreaming, he wouldn’t be able to get back to bed. He instead decided to try to comfort her.

He lifted her gently by the baggy shirt she was wearing and sat her up against his heartbeat. He had read somewhere that a heartbeat of a calm adult could sooth a child. Did it work with adults? She leaned against him as he awkwardly patter her back. What should he say? He went with something sappy. “There, there. It’s alright,” he whispered in her ear.

“No, it’s not. He’s… he’s killing everyone…”

“It’s alright. I’m right here.” Pat.

“You aren’t. You’re over there, lifeless…”

“I’ll protect you.” Pat pat. Pat.

“You can’t…” She trembled in his warm arms. “Why does he insist on taking everything away from me?”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“Why does he torture me? Why…”

“It’s alright. I’m right here.” Pat. Pat pat pat.

“…Don’t leave. Please.”

“I’m right here.” Her trembling became more violent. Pat pat pat pat pat. Pat pat.

“Don’t leave me here.”

“I’ll always be with you.” Pat pat pat. Pat.

“…Promise?”

“I promise.” Her shaking slowly stopped.

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

“Why does he take away everything I care about?” Pat.

“I don’t know.” She unconsciously clutched his shirt.

“I won’t let him take you.” If she had been awake, she would’ve wondered why his cheeks were a pinkish-tan.

“I won’t leave.” Reese sighed.

“Good.” With that, she fell back toward the bed, taking him with her. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows before jerkily taking his shirt off. Surprisingly, he didn’t wake her up.

He snuck out of the room, making sure to not wake her up. “All that to go back to sleep,” he muttered.


	6. In which I decide to rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ack. No no no.

Okay, I'm just going to put this out there. I HATE the way this is going. It's just cringe after cringe after cringe now to me. It's not going as planned (like I ever had a plan), and it's just... ugh. Nope. I am taking a break and going to work on another, shorter fanfic for all those Johnlock lovers out there. So be on the lookout for that! It's going to be short, maybe 5-10k? Maybe more. Not that much more, though.

 

So, anyway, you've probably gotten the point by now. I don't like the way it's going exactly, and I'm going to fix it. Please check back every so often at the chapter count to see if something's new. So, uh, yeah! That's it, I hope you guys have thought that it's fairly decent, and I'll begin to post new chapters in about, maybe, a month? We'll see how it goes.

 

Thanks for sticking with me,

FamilyFire05

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like it so far :) Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, so, yeah. Yep.


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